


Living Together

by dirtylittlegreasemonkey



Category: Emmerdale
Genre: Domestic Fluff, Fluff, Future Fic, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-21
Updated: 2015-08-15
Packaged: 2018-04-05 12:18:38
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 14,899
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4179585
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dirtylittlegreasemonkey/pseuds/dirtylittlegreasemonkey
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Five-part fic, explicit for later chapters. </p><p>Seven months after the fall-out of their affair being exposed, Aaron and Robert have picked up the pieces and despite everything, have moved in together - into a cottage in the village. It's not all plain sailing and living together as a couple provides new challenges and tests for their relationship.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Party

**Party**

 

“Last one,” Andy says, lifting a sad-looking cardboard box just above his chin. His feet stop in the hallway when he’s blockaded by what looks like a storage fort. “How do you have so much stuff?”

Aaron wipes his brow with his forearm; carrying the mattress upstairs has nearly crippled him. He gives Andy a pointed look and his eyes flick upwards in the direction of the first floor. “D’you need to ask? Most of it isn’t mine, mate.”

Some of his possessions might have been destroyed, clothes incinerated, but that hadn’t stopped that materialistic streak of Robert’s dominating his personality.

“I take it he’s responsible for dumping all this lot here as well,” Andy says, gesturing to the minimal square of floor space around his feet. Bringing in the last of the boxes resembled a military obstacle course.

“No,” comes Robert’s voice from the stairs, as he bounds down, voice bouncing with every step. “You’ve got Adam to thank for that display of genius.”

Aaron glares at him, his teeth grinding away. He’s not sure they’ll ever get over their petty issues and it’s easier if he stops trying to force it. They say moving is one of the most stressful life events you can endure and Robert’s really putting that to the test. Adam had come over first thing to help out and Robert had done nothing but criticise – lording it over like it was embedded into his DNA.

Andy raises both eyebrows. “On that note…”

“Just ignore him,” Aaron says. “Stay for a drink. I made sure I put some cans in the fridge when we got the keys this morning.”

“Nah, you’re alright. Save it for tonight.”

“Tonight?” Aaron asks.

A look shadows across Robert’s face and Aaron doesn’t miss it. Robert can’t hide things from him, he’s practically transparent. He looks across at him where he twitches on the stairs and gives Andy a wide-eyed stare as if to say – _don’t, don’t, don’t!_

“What’s happening tonight?” Aaron repeats and leans, one hand on the bannister. He makes sure Robert’s heard the edge to his voice.

Andy falters and looks between them momentarily before he gives up on trying to spin any lies. “The er…house warming party.”

“What house warming party?”

“Aaron…” Robert starts, the whine bleeding through.

Andy’s expression is a mixture of amusement and wanting to flee a warzone, so he reaches forward and claps Robert on the arm. “Nice start, bro,” he says, not holding back on the Schadenfreude and raises his hand in goodbye to Aaron before he lets himself out.

Once the door shuts the cottage hums in its own quiet – the echoing emptiness, the slightly creaky floorboards, the erratically buzzing fridge-freezer. The birds outside and the stillness of the trees outside give the impression of calm, but Aaron’s position is fixed, clenched. They’ve only just moved in, day one, fresh start, the rest of their turbulent lives together and already Robert has those watery, apologetic eyes, the soft voice of a guilty boy.

“I said I didn’t want a party.”

“It’s not a party!” Robert says, wading through the boxes to get a little nearer to Aaron. “It’s just a few people and some drinks. A bit of food.”

Suddenly Victoria’s weird text yesterday about sausage rolls and pizza made sense. Robert had roped her into catering for this non-party party. So much for this casual gathering he was describing.

“So how many people have you invited?”

“A few,” Robert says, slipping his hands into his pockets - on the defence. “In case you haven’t noticed I’m not exactly inundated with mates right now.”

“Oh no, I did notice.” There’s a vengeful glee in Aaron’s response which he doesn’t mean but one that easily rises to the surface when Robert brings it out in him (which is more often than he likes).

“My doing – I know,” Robert says, his head-bowed insecurity giving Aaron a quick sting of guilt. “I just invited most of the village, but considering everyone hates me you don’t have to worry about a full house.”

He couldn’t imagine anything worse: small talk and people he barely has more than two words to say to, family members interfering, Robert on-edge. Come to think of it, the idea of Robert schmoozing when he’s entirely out of his comfort zone doesn’t sit right with Aaron either. It’s taken months for him to stray from a bunker-like existence in the fear that someone might stop and try and talk to him about his sexual activities in the middle of Bob’s café. Now he wants to welcome people into the house he’s just rented with a man?

“Fine. It’s done now,” Aaron says, shrugging. “We better get all this unpacked then.”

*

In the end Aaron is surprised and slightly mortified how many people have actually shown up to the party. He feels as if he’s in the centre of some sort of freak show. There are the exceptions of course – Adam and Victoria, Andy, Finn (who is kinder about Robert than he deserves) and Diane – but the rest feel as if they’re here to gawp. Or Robert’s threatened them.

Priya and Rakesh make a brief appearance which Aaron finds excruciating because Adam looks like he’s about to swing for Rakesh even though Vanessa and Kirin’s baby drama seems a million years ago. For Aaron, looking at Rakesh just reminds him of Robert’s legal separation and how long and painful that was for all involved. It all felt so fragile then, that if he dared breathe Robert might run a mile. Being with him wasn’t the easy option and Robert wasn’t a brave man. It’s nothing short of a miracle they’ve made it this far.

From Ross’s arrival to Chas’s, Aaron is blinded by how much of a mistake the party was. He should’ve told Robert to cancel and let him deal with that embarrassment all by himself. They don’t need the attention - they’ve had enough chaos and drama and scrutiny to last them both a lifetime. Chas can barely stand to share oxygen with Robert let alone pretend she’s happy they’re living together. Aaron pictures her with a countdown clock, waiting for that inevitable day Robert fucks up and cheats on him or leaves him. He can hear it in her voice when she calls, her expectant face at the bar when he arrives alone without Robert.

He knows what she thinks about the cottage too – that Robert is trying to buy him or rub her nose in it. Or something – she hasn’t always made clear why she doesn’t like it, all he knows is: she just doesn’t.

She keeps her coat on, briefly chatting to the people who pass as she makes her way towards Aaron. The intention is clear – she’s not sticking around.

“Housewarming gift,” she says, raising a bottle of wine she’s brought with her. Probably one from the stock she stole. She eyes the room and the tension bristling between them sends Adam and Victoria scuttling off to the buffet table. Aaron had told Robert to cancel Victoria’s catering – she was a friend, Robert’s family, she didn’t need to be stressed making a spread for them. If they were having this party now, Aaron wanted it to be as relaxed as possible.

“I don’t want everyone to think we’re the sort of people who throw a party and then only offer crisps in bowls,” Robert had said as they started unpacking boxes in the living room that morning.

“And what’s wrong with that?” Aaron had said, smarting. “Not everyone goes to a party expecting canapés and caviar, you know.”

Robert had been moody after that and called Vic to change the buffet from something fancy and intricate to simple party food. She sounded relieved. He was still pissed off.

They still aren’t really talking now, there’s no united front to show Chas she’s lost. Robert’s not even in the same room – he’s in the kitchen making drinks for some guys from his new job that he’s badgered into coming. That was a surprise in itself – that he was willing to come out to colleagues and invite them to a cramped party in an old cottage where the walls had a lingering smell of damp and he kept banging his head on the door frames because he’s too tall for the place. It’s hardly something to boast about at work. He doesn’t have an Aston Martin and a trophy wife and a house with uncountable rooms anymore.

“Quite the gathering,” Chas says.

“Didn’t think you were coming.”

“It’s only a flying visit,” she says. “Don’t want to cramp your style.”

Aaron rolled his eyes, with most of his sullen expression swallowed up by his drink.

“What’s wrong?” Chas says, clamping down on the smirk he can see tugging at her mouth. “Don’t tell me the honeymoon period is over already?”

He can’t face another circular argument with her and he downs his can of beer, leaving it on the nearest surface and pushes past some of the guests. Adam calls out to him to check he’s okay, but he doesn’t give a reply, heading straight to the bedroom. He just needs some time alone, time to think.

*

He’s laid out on the bed, atop of the covers, earphones pushed in, volume up blisteringly high, and he doesn’t hear a knock on the door, just feels the air change when Robert enters.

“Your mum’s downstairs.”

“I know.”

There’s a nervous energy about Robert, he stoops as he stands, jittering close and then backing off again. Aaron can tell he’s in limbo, part impulsive anger, part concern. Perhaps he’s matured a little, realised he’s the one who made the wrong move with the party, because he sits on the end of the bed, clasping his hands together while the chatter and music carries on downstairs. He’s pulled the door shut but the sounds of everyone else having a good time punctuates their silence.

“What are you doing up here?” Robert says softly. “I invited all _your_ friends” – and then, scoffing – “I even invited your mum.”

“I didn’t ask you to,” Aaron says, fiddling with the earphone jack. He has a playlist of songs on there that remind him of being thirteen and not giving a fuck about anything. He misses not caring. It was easier.

Robert’s jaw flinches and Aaron can see a little of that annoyance seeping out, making his eyes cold. “All that downstairs – I did it for you.”

Aaron sits up. “And I told you I didn’t want a party!”

“Fine!” The defensiveness has sprung him back to life – Robert’s on his feet again, arms open. “Forget it.”

“Today was supposed to be about us. This was meant to be our fresh start,” Aaron says, his face snarled in a way that doesn’t match the sentiment of his words. “I didn’t want a big party, Robert, because I wanted to spend the first night in our new place together. Just the two of us.”

Robert’s face looks as if he’s been smacked, his mouth sliding into the perfect oval. He drops again and sits on the bed. “I’ve been an idiot.”

“Well yeah…” Aaron scoffs – it wasn’t like that was anything new for Robert.

“I wanted to show all of that lot. You know, if they want to say anything they can say it to my face.” He pauses. “Your mum already does that so there wasn’t much point me inviting her.”

“You don’t have to put on some big show.” Aaron reaches forward and places his hand on Robert’s arm. He’s in a designer shirt, still clinging white-knuckled to the man who had everything, to the man who was the envy of everyone, to the man lost under so many masks. “And you’re not gonna earn yourself any mates by forcing people to come to some shit party.”

“Yeah, cos you’re the life and soul!”

Aaron looks at him pointedly – are they ever more than two breaths away from an argument? “Why do you care so much about what everyone thinks of you?”

“Doesn’t everyone?”

“No,” Aaron says. “Why should they?”

Robert places his hand on top of Aaron’s and Aaron can feel his heavy, panicked pulse radiating from his skin. There’s so much unsaid. He wants to ask about the guys from Robert’s new job – how much of the truth has he told them? – but he doesn’t. As much as he craves honesty, he’s afraid of answers he might not want to hear. He wants to know how much of the party spending, even in their humble cottage, is done for affect, done to impress. Done to pretend he’s still Robert Sugden from Home Farm, proving to everyone – after his public shaming – that he’s still above them. Aaron knows what the party is all about – he thinks it’s expected of him. It’s what he’d have done if he was still living on the hill – hiring a caterer, filling up glasses, talking about how he’s managed to climb up from the gutter (again) and rebuild his life from nothing, speaking in grand exaggerated terms about what the next venture might be.

It’s been some seven months now since everything’s been out in the open but still there’s a fragility to it, a fear. Aaron knows he’s lying to himself when it comes to Chas – he’s terrified she might be right, that this - for all its promise of commitment and stability - could all come crashing down. It’s not just about Robert either – it’s about him too. It wouldn’t be the first time he’s wondered whether he’s just better off alone.

A deep sigh comes from Robert and Aaron doesn’t know how he has the energy to keep being someone else, someone he’s not. He remembers the exhaustion well. “Look – I’ll just get rid of everyone,” Robert says, squeezing Aaron’s hand. “We’ll tell them to go home and then you and I can just…”

Aaron smiles softly and enjoys the way Robert’s voice just drifts off. He feels a prickle of adrenaline at the thought of the two of them alone together in their own place for the first time.

“Your sister’s made a lot of effort,” Aaron says as their foreheads push together. He lets his eyes close, wondering why Robert can’t be like this all the time.

“It isn’t exactly Michelin standard…”

Aaron breaks away from him, brow heavy and hand touching his forehead. He stands up, clenching up his frustration as he grips his arms and tries to pace away the urge in him to reignite the argument.

“Okay…wrong thing to say…” Robert joins him and stands but isn’t quite brave enough to touch him.

“Can’t you just be normal?” Aaron asks. “Have a beer, you know? Stop putting on this act as if you’re still up there with Chrissie and Lawrence.”

He isn’t expecting that outburst, shown by the half step backwards and the vulnerable way his mouth parts. “I’m trying to make an effort.”

“No, you’re doing what you would’ve done a year ago. You know, people downstairs actually might start to like you if you were yourself. The real you.” Aaron shakes his head at himself and cools, calms. He steps forward and rests his hand on the side of Robert’s arm. He can see that they’ve softened now and he cocks his head to the side, teasing. “It might take a while but…”

Robert agrees, a little puff of air coming from his nose as he raises his brow. “You’re asking for a miracle.”

Aaron shrugs. “Stranger things have happened.”

“I’ll take lessons from you then, yeah? Put on a hoodie and frown at everyone.”

“Nah,” Aaron says. “It only works for me…and you look pretty good in that shirt.”

Robert pulls him forward by the waist, intention clear on his face. “Better out of it…” he says, leaning in to kiss Aaron’s throat.

Aaron pushes on his chest with a groaning reluctance but then melts, allowing himself the pleasure of Robert’s mouth igniting his skin, if only for a minute.

In no time at all he hears the floorboards creak and his name called out by Adam whose come to find him.

Robert glowers when they’re jolted from their intimacy. “I swear…” he says.

“He feels the same about you,” Aaron says cheekily as he slips from Robert’s grip and calls back to Adam that he’s just coming. He looks back to Robert. “I’ll pretend to have a good time if you take that stick out your arse and relax.”  

He stands, scoffing, with his hands on his hips. “Not likely with your mum breathing down my neck.”

“Try.”

Aaron leaves him with that thought and claps Adam on the back as he sees him on the stairs and brushes off any of his comments that he’s moody or rowing with Robert. He heads back to the living room and fills up a plate from the buffet, thanking Vic as he does. Chas is in the corner, coat unbuttoned at least, talking with Diane and he can’t help but smirk to himself. Aaron notices her eyes roll off to the side and Aaron sees why, Robert’s re-arrival – uncharacteristically muted and quiet, can of lager in his hand. He sees Aaron watching and raises it with a soft, knowing smile.

And Aaron doesn’t have to pretend after that – he has a good time.  


	2. DIY

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Explicit chapter. Now that they've been living together a while, Aaron and Robert decide to buy a flat pack desk, but when Robert finds he's hopeless at building it tensions build.

**DIY**

They realise, about two months in, that they don’t have a decent desk. Aaron’s laptop practically breathes fire onto his knees and Robert feels like a businessman fraud without one. So after skirting round an adult, grown-up conversation, both of them decide that they could do with a few more pieces of furniture and that’s how they end up standing around staring at a flat-pack desk on the floor of their living room.

Aaron is the first to decide it can wait for another day, having trudged round IKEA with a tension headache punching through his skull. Robert liked everything that was gaudy and impractical – and everything that exceeded their price range. They’d hadn’t gone as far as committing to a joint bank account or agreeing things like budgets – they’d just sort of muddled through the days and weeks, cutting back when things got a little tight. Robert had scuttled from temporary contract to temporary contract, living off recommendations from colleagues and this apparent network of contacts he’d built over the years. It wasn’t a stable way of living and Aaron had to suffer through Robert’s worst moods when he was between jobs – like he was currently. Aaron had berated him for being picky – what happened to the days where he was happy enough to work in the garage? In reality he didn’t need to ask: he knew. Robert had left those days behind, he couldn’t be seen to be moving backwards, even if it meant a few weeks skulking at home and chasing jobs on the phone. He wouldn’t lower himself to working at a garage, especially not Dingle’s.

Aaron picks up his mug of tea from the coffee table, blows on it and slumps into the sofa. “I’ll put it together at the weekend,” he says with a carefree shrug. The desk isn’t anything particularly fancy – smooth MDF, a few pull out drawers – but it’ll fit in the living room and it’ll give Robert back the feeling of importance he seems to pin on owning a desk.   

Robert remains standing, hands on his hips, frowning down at it like it’s an unsolvable jigsaw. “It’s like an episode of the Crystal Maze,” he says.

“It’s fine. I’ll do it. I’ve put together a few flat-packs before.”

“Ah – so that’s what you’re saying, is it? That I should just leave it to the master?”

Aaron raises a smile behind his mug. “Pretty much, yeah.”

Robert leans over him, planting his hands on Aaron’s shoulders, so they’re face to face. “You think I’m gonna screw it up.”

“Didn’t say that,” Aaron says with defiance, his mouth sparking up at the edges.

“I’ll have you know,” - he says, his voice deliciously low and rumbling – “I’m very good with my hands.”

“Really?”

“Really.” Robert presses a smirked kiss against Aaron’s mouth and drags a hand down his chest, pushing up the hem of his t-shirt so he has easy access to the button of his jeans.

It’s the casual, spontaneity that they have now that Aaron loves. No sneaking around, no orchestrated, pre-planned extra careful clinches – just the simple fact that they can have it anytime anywhere, whenever they want it. Aaron looks up at him, heavy lidded, and watches as he takes Aaron’s tea out his hand and puts it to the side and lowers, sinking down on one knee at a time.

“Do you need reminding?” Robert says, his hands making irresistible friction as they rub and squeeze Aaron’s thighs. His fingers open up Aaron’s jeans and he pulls at them, helped by Aaron lifting up his hips. He resents the way he finds Robert’s wide gleeful grinning so endearing – but he does, every time. It makes him forgive a lot.

“Might do, yeah.” Aaron sinks back into the sofa, letting his head fall back and gaze drift to the ceiling. He thanks whoever-out-there that is responsible for bringing Robert and his expert hands and mouth to him.

A whole, uncensored moan shifts out of him as Robert takes a hold of his cock. It makes the tension of the Ikea trip worth it - all of the morons and noise and queueing. Aaron’s arm lazes across the back of the sofa and his fingers dig in, scratching helplessly as Robert’s palm grazes over his length in a steady warmth. Robert makes his thumb work over the head in dizzy circles, exploiting Aaron’s sensitivity and if the smugness on his face is anything to go by – tongue tucked just behind his teeth, he’s getting off on the slow torture just as much. Aaron’s pelvis jolts as if triggered by electricity and he feels his entire body caving completely under Robert’s control. Robert has his spare hand now, hovering, skimming the underside of Aaron’s shaft with his forefinger; he makes him feel powerless in a way he didn’t think he could enjoy.

Aaron watches Robert lower, transfixed in his own delirious way by the blond crown of Robert’s head. He runs his fingers through Robert’s hair, pulling where it thickens at the back of his neck and bites down on his own lip to stop himself begging. Robert feeds off begging, but Aaron knows if he starts encouraging him, if he starts pleading then Robert will want more and more of it and right now, all Aaron wants is a blowjob – forget the chat.

But Robert must know, by the way his breathing goes low and loud, by the way his hand claws on Robert’s shoulder - because there’s none of his usual compliment-fishing, he just wets his lips and throws Aaron into bliss, drawing his cock deep into his mouth. His tongue is smooth and hungry all at once and the bliss just feels so loud, like his blood and nerves are trying to escape his body. His grunts are like Robert’s – from his gut, from his throat - and he doesn’t spend long curtailing his own noises, but shoves his knuckles into his mouth and feels his hips buck and slide, giving up more and more of himself to Robert’s mercy. He’s quick about it – there’s no tease or lingering romance in it. It’s hot and fast and dirty. It’s a fuck. Robert’s palm scolds his thigh with a tight grip and Aaron’s lost all vision now, living off the desperate wet sounds and the sensation of being ripped apart.     

*

It’s mornings like this, when he’s up and dressed for work and Robert lounges in just a towel, still wet from the shower, that Aaron really wishes he didn’t have to leave for the scrapyard. He tries not to look up from his tea and toast, because if he looks it’s all too tempting to stay. When Robert walks into the room he brings with him a clean, earthy smell and it takes everything in Aaron’s power not to be swayed by his advances.

“I was thinking,” - Robert says, hand resting on Aaron’s back while he licks his fingers free of toast crumbs – “I’ve not got much on today. Why don’t I make a start on that desk?”

“You think you’re up for it?”

“Saves you a job, doesn’t it?”

“Alright,” Aaron says, tilting his head to one side. He breaks from Robert’s contact to stick his mug in the sink, giving it a quick rinse. “Just a shame I won’t be here to watch you make an idiot of yourself, isn’t it?”

“Very funny,” Robert says, leaning back on the table with his hands on his hips. Aaron can’t help but smile at this – even in a towel he thinks he’s some big tough guy.

“Right, I’m off. Try not to, you know, break anything or lose any screws.”

Aaron motions to leave, but Robert grabs him by the arm. “Not so fast,” he says, pulling him up against his damp body where Aaron can see rivulets of water coursing his torso between goosebumps and freckles. He presses his mouth under Aaron’s earlobe and then against his lips. “Screwing’s the bit I’m good at,” he says, eyes glinting and mouth hanging open in a goofy smile.

“You really need to work on your lines, mate,” Aaron says, tapping him on the arms and letting himself free. He shakes his head, grinning to himself. “See you later.”

*

It’s been a quiet day at the scrapyard and even more so because Adam’s been out and about at other yards. Aaron hasn’t given into the urge to text Robert and tease him about the desk, but he can sense before he’s even made it home that it’ll have taken him all day and he won’t have finished it. For a farmer’s son manual, practical work just didn’t suit him.

The situation is exactly what he expected when he walks in the door. There’s plastic and wood and instructions and screws, drills, screwdrivers, Allen keys spread out over the carpet and a rich smell of coffee, like he’s been making an endless stream. Once Robert’s heard the front door, he bounds down the staircase, shirt sleeves rolled and a riled up stiffness to his posture.

“Well, you were right!” he said, defeat manifesting itself in uptight annoyance. “That _thing_ is a joke.”

Aaron tries to laugh it off and touches him lightly on his tense arms. “It’s fine. I said I’d do it.”

“I’m not being defeated,” Robert says, walking and talking his way through to the living room and glaring down at the carcass of desk on the floor. “Not buy some crappy flat pack desk.”

*

In the end, fed up of all Robert’s huffing and red-mist reactions to the assembly of the desk, Aaron takes it into his own hands. Robert had made himself scarce for an hour or two for a job interview so Aaron gets to work. Once he’s taken it apart again, baffled by Robert’s topsy-turvy progress, he manages to piece it all together in forty five minutes.

When Robert comes through the door, unlacing his tie and body heavy from an exhausting day, Aaron is sat at the new desk, laptop plugged in and a sheepish pride in the desk’s completion. He doesn’t say ‘ta-dah’ but he opens his arms as if presenting it on a game show.

“What’s this?”

“Er…what does it look like?” Aaron stands so Robert can get a better look at his creation.

Robert’s brow creases, his jaw set to one side. “I said I’d do it.”

“I know, but it’s fine.”

“I wanted to do it.”

Aaron tuts. “If it’s that big a deal I’ll dismantle it and you can spend another four days swearing at it!” Aaron’s in no mood to deal with his childish behaviour, not when he can see Robert’s tired and his pride’s hurt. He’s no one’s friend like that. He shoves past him and heads to the kitchen to stick the oven on.

*

For the rest of the week Aaron sees Robert glance over at the desk and glare at it, like it’s his own vendetta. Defeated by a cheap desk. They’re watching TV and Robert’ll catch it out of the corner of his eye and his arms will cross his body; or he’ll attempt to email some companies about follow-up job interviews but he’ll do it sat in the kitchen rather than use the desk.

And then one evening, Aaron has enough. He launches himself up off the sofa and goes to find the tools from the cupboard.

“What’re you playing at?”

“What does it look like?” Aaron says, pulling the desk out from the wall and beginning with the small screws by the drawers.

“Don’t be stupid,” Robert says, standing up and stepping up close to him.

“Me stupid? I’m not the one acting like a cry baby all over some stupid desk.”

Robert sighs, pinching his nose with his forefinger and thumb. “Just put the screwdriver down, will you?”

“Why?”

“Because I’m asking you to.”

Aaron stands and relents, placing the screwdriver on the top of the desk and with it the one screw he’d managed to undo. It spins in a circle. They face each other in a stand-off, Aaron’s head tilted forward waiting for answers.

He can tell by the way Robert sways and his jaw almost chews through his pride, that the explanation he gives isn’t an easy one.

“I wanted to do something, okay? Contribute. I’ve spent all day every day trying to dig my way out of this situation…get myself some legitimate, full time work. And I just felt like….like if I could at least put a desk together then I’d have done something.”

Aaron’s eyes fall half-shut as he shakes his head. “Robert…”

“Well now you forced it out of me, I realise how ridiculous it sounds.” He lowers his head, hands lifting and falling to show how pathetic he feels.

Aaron thaws completely and reaches up on his toes to kiss him on the mouth and is held there longer by Robert’s hands on his waist, unwilling to let him go.

Robert releases this half-growled, half-sighed sound from his throat. “You know what might make me feel better about it?”

“What?”

Robert’s eyes spark up, pupils flooding his green-blue irises. His hands slip and pull Aaron closer by the ass.

“We haven’t done it against a desk in a while…”

Aaron doesn’t need to respond or bite back with a sarcastic comment, because Robert’s hands are on him, cradling the back of his head as he moves to kiss him. There’s just enough force in it to make Aaron cling to him a little harder, to make the breath spurt out of his nose in one sharp exhale. Robert’s tongue slides against him with lust and need, and Aaron can almost find enough sense to help Robert out of his shirt and trousers.

They’re both red-mouthed, skin alive and raw when Robert pushes him up against the desk, their crotches grinding. Aaron can’t help but be responsive, his neck rolling away and breaking out of a kiss as the groan fights its way out of him. Robert presses against him in his underwear, solid and forceful. He lands a smirking, giddy kiss on Aaron’s jaw and then flicks his earlobe with his tongue.

“Lube,” he says, by way of explanation as he backs off, making a dash towards the stairs.

Aaron doesn’t deny the laugh, but his whole body trembles with arousal. He rakes his hands through his hair and it’s softer, fluffier than how he used to wear it. Robert’s back within an instant, almost tripping over himself in an effort to race back. He fumbles with the condom and lube whilst dividing his attention between Aaron’s mouth and getting the last of his clothes off.

“This desk,” Robert says, murmuring against Aaron’s mouth and grasping desperately at the hard swell of Aaron’s cock. “I’m gonna fuck you on this desk.”  

It’s a heady blur of speed and skin and sweat. Aaron’s head whirls and he’s slightly delirious from it, wanting to laugh but at the same time so fixated on his desire for Robert. The desk is slightly rough against his chest as he arches over it, but it’s soon a distant sensation when Robert licks and kisses over his spine, treating each ridge of muscle and bone as a path to ecstasy. He doesn’t care that Robert’s teeth are sharp as he grazes them across his ass cheek. He doesn’t care at all; he’s stopped being able to think, conscious only of that warm, rapidly cooling wet trail that Robert makes with his tongue.

His whole body rings with tension, he can feel it quivering from him in waves. Robert hums his way, mouth and long noisy kisses, up the nape of his neck, toying Aaron with a finger inside him. He plays him with an all-knowing, dangerous understanding of everything Aaron wants and likes. And then, because Robert isn’t blessed with patience, he fucks him, leaving Aaron biting at his own forearm and clawing at the top of the desk. The desk that they’re now both very glad Aaron built.


	3. Sick

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Aaron gets ill and deals with it in his own solitary way, rebuffing Robert's attempts to help. When Robert gets sick, it's a whole other story.

**Sick**

Stress has wormed its way into his body like a virus, knotting his muscles into tight, cemented bundles and the long drive home hasn’t helped. He resents being the new boy at the company, being sent on long drives to business meetings no one else wants to attend, schmoozing clients who have no interest in signing contracts. Robert feels like a sham in the job, the first he’s found willing to give him a permanent contract, knowing it won’t be as easy to snake his way up the ranks when his boss isn’t as malleable as Lawrence. And this boss, whose morning briefings come with a shedload of buzzwords and bullshit, is strictly a tits man.

It’s gone nine by the time he gets in, having hit sluggish tailbacks on a drive back from Doncaster and he finds Aaron on the sofa, head in his hands and the TV on some American sitcom, volume down low. When Aaron sits up to look at him, his eyes are watery and red and he rubs his hands across his face as if there’s nothing wrong at all.

He smiles faintly, so fast it almost doesn’t crease his cheeks. “Alright?”

“Yeah,” Robert says, knowing he sounds distracted. He takes his jacket off and hangs it on the back of the desk chair. “You look awful.”

“Thanks,” Aaron says with sarcasm and then sniffs and turns off the TV. “Just a cold.”

“You were fine this morning,” Robert says, his brow furrowed. It’s true – to some extent – although he did leave Aaron in bed, groggy and still sleeping, when he left for work with a kiss to the back of the neck.

Aaron stands, stretching as he does and Robert can see now the obvious signs – the greyish tinge to his face and the red beacon of his nose. “And I’m fine now,” Aaron says. “Will you stop fussing over me?”

Robert raises his eyebrows, palms lifted. Clearly the tetchiness – a slight increase on the usual – is a side effect of the illness. “Message received,” Robert says and traipses into the kitchen where he dreams of something filling and comforting waiting for him in the fridge – knowing there is nothing of that description to greet him. He would never mention it to Aaron but it’s one of the things he misses about money – the ability to pay someone to cook for you. The two of them cook reluctantly and as little as physically possible and out of sheer laziness spend a disgusting amount of time frying or microwaving food. It might, he thinks, explain why Aaron’s immune system has taken a severe battering. And why his shirts feel a little snugger than before.

“There’s leftovers if you want ‘em,” Aaron calls, with one foot on the stairs. “I made pasta but I wasn’t hungry.”

Aaron can’t see, but Robert shoots him a look of adoration and mutters – head in the fridge – with: “I knew I loved you for a reason.”

He lifts the food from the fridge and sticks his head round the doorway, hearing Aaron sniff and sigh his way up the stairs. “Are you going to bed?” Robert asks.

Aaron stops and his voice is sleep-slurred, dragged from his mouth. “Sorry,” he says, mumbling. “I’m knackered.”

He suddenly feels a surge of guilt at his own self-pity on the drive home. “Do you want me to bring you up anything?”

“Robert, I’m fine.” There’s a weariness and distance to him that tells Robert he’s the kind of guy who gets ill and wants to live as solitary and as quiet as possible. He says goodnight and Robert mourns the lack of any real physical contact before busying himself with heating up the leftovers and crawls into bed for an early night himself. He places a box of tissues on Aaron’s side of the bed and strokes his hand across his back – not heavy enough to wake him but not too light that it tickles. Before he settles, his body and stress melting into their new mattress, he presses his mouth to Aaron’s shoulder and then falls into a welcome sleep.

*

Even though he sounds as if he has a bus wedged in his nose, Aaron doesn’t hold back on the comments as he pulls his dressing gown tighter. His eyes scan across the pharmaceutical line-up Robert has assembled on the kitchen table. “Why have you bought up half the chemist’s?”

Robert runs through each packet, each bottle. He has it all – Beechams, Lemsip – every brand that was ever invented to reduce the symptoms of a cold. He’s even managed to throw in things he didn’t even know existed – like nasal sprays – as well as three flavours of throat sweets, every menthol product and Kleenex with balm.

“For your cold,” Robert says with his arms spread and a tinge of pride.

Aaron’s face screws and he picks up a box of tablets which promise to eliminate all symptoms of flu. “I’m not dying,” he says although the sound of his scraping voice would suggest otherwise.

“I wanted to make you feel better,” Robert says.

He smiles, making his eyes a little glossier. “Did you buy yourself a little nurse’s uniform n’all?”

“I can go back out and get one if you’d prefer,” he teased, reaching across the table and squeezing Aaron’s hand.

“Nah,” Aaron says. “You’ll do as you are.”

Robert hands him a glass of orange juice as he passes by, stooping his neck to press a kiss on Aaron’s forehead. “Drink this,” he says. His mum would swear by it when he was ill. He had these vivid memories of her telling him that if he drank the juice he’d feel instantly better, well enough to go to school at least. She had been wrong about that, but it had temporarily perked him up, enough that she decided he needed to give school a try. He’d never known what was the better option – going to school ill or staying at home and being roped into helping out on the farm. His dad would never let him stay in bed or lounge on the sofa watching cartoons like other kids did. _What you need, Robert, is fresh air and a bit of hard work. That’ll take your mind off any sniffles_. 

“You’re not going into work are you?” Robert asks when he sees Aaron head back upstairs for a shower. Aaron gives him this look as if to say – _well, obviously_ – and then can just about manage a stance of defiance on the stairs. Robert shakes his head. “Adam can manage without you.”

“I told you, I’m fine.”

“Yeah, you really sound it.”

“I’m not going to keel over and die, you know. I just feel a bit rough. But if it makes you feel any better, I’ll dose myself up before I leave.”

*

When Robert gets home that night – earlier than he’d made it home the previous evening – the cottage is blanketed in darkness, all lights off and eerily quiet. He’s about used to the creaks and groans of the place these days but there’s still something a little spooky about it. He hasn’t heard from Aaron since lunchtime and there’s a tight pang in his chest knowing that Aaron isn’t hunched on the sofa or cooking at the stove. But once he’s let himself in properly and shrugged off his jacket onto the hook, he sees a thin amber glow at the top of the stairs.

He climbs the stairs to find Aaron curled up in bed, awake but eyes fluttering like they’re weighted down.

“I feel like shit,” he says, rolling onto his back and groaning.

Robert hovers, possessed with a sheepish anxiety of not wanting to irritate Aaron, or on the other hand say what he wants to – which is something along the lines of: I told you so. Instead he crouches and puts his arm across Aaron’s chest.

“What can I get you?” Robert says and sees a look of protest cross his face. “I’m not fussing! Just asking. I’ll get lost if you prefer.”

“No,” Aaron says, soft voiced and lonely. “Don’t go.”

“Soup? Toast? Chicken soup is supposed to be good, isn’t it?”

“I’d like to see you try and make soup.”

“I was going to open a tin,” Robert says, smiling.

“I’m feeling really spoilt, here.”

Robert squeezes him, but not enough to tickle.

“Can you get us a Lemsip?”

“Oh so I’m not totally useless after all then?”

Aaron lowers his hand onto Robert’s arm. “I never said that.” He runs his thumb along the faint hair on Robert’s arm which makes him shiver a little. It’s definitely the sensation, he decides, he’s not starting to feel unwell.

*

Two days on and Robert’s ill. Really ill. He makes a point of sniffing a lot and leaving crumpled tissues in a Hansel and Gretel path and wastes the entire weekend groaning and coughing. His hair is flat and trampled, sticking to his tacky forehead and he’s told Aaron several times that it’s flu – definitely flu. It’s much worse than the cold that Aaron had – he tells him several times – and trudges around the cottage with his mouth upturned and hugging himself in his dressing gown.

He’s found a way to combine as many of the cold and flu remedies as is medically possible and is a walking, grunting trail of lemon, honey and menthol. He’s watched the whole Lord of the Rings trilogy with an Olbas inhaler in his hand and shredded Lockets packets littering the sofa. He’s tried a steaming bowl of water and is almost neon from the amount of orange juice he’s drunk.

And still Aaron isn’t forthcoming with the sympathy. The most he’s had is a begrudgingly made Lemsip and a new box of tissues thrown at him.

He’s upstairs in bed, body feeling clunky and aching and the laptop glare too much for his eyes. What he really fancies, more than anything – is some comfort food and some company. He’s calls out to Aaron and here’s the familiar and warming soft thud of his feet up the stairs and his – _what now?­_ – sighs.

“Yeah?” he says, standing in the doorway. He’s already made some smart-mouthed comment that maybe Robert should get a little bell.

“What you been up to?”

Aaron shrugs. “Just on Fifa.” He gives Robert a glance over. “Are you feeling any better?”

Robert can tell by the way he poses the question that he doesn’t really want to know all of Robert’s grumbles. He flicks back the covers. “I will be, if you come here.”

Aaron’s whole face screws up. “I’m not getting into bed with you when you’re all…”

Robert sits up straighter in bed. “You what? After all I did for you when you were sick.”   

“Well I don’t want another cold!”

“I got this from you!”

Robert isn’t sure whether it’s his pathetic little whimper or the way his voice sounds so whiney and nasal or that his outburst causes the box of tissues to tumble to the floor, but something makes Aaron shake his head, exhale a laboured puff of air and climb into bed next to him. He knows he’s all clammy and unpleasant but Aaron puts his arm around him with a badly disguised eye roll.

“Now will you just stop going on about it?”

“I’ll try,” Robert says, snuggling into Aaron with his eyes shut and already feeling infinitely better.


	4. Date

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After a slightly disastrous date in public, Robert attempts to make it up to Aaron at home.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the huge delay in this chapter. Forgive me! Thanks for all the kudos and lovely comments.

**Date**

 

Robert abandoned the idea of the recipe he’d found online even before the sound of Victoria’s disbelieving laughter rang through his skull. She’d tried to compose herself several times, after spluttering, and tried to answer his technical questions. In the end he’d told her to forget it and just hung up, wondering whether he was kidding himself. They had enough in the fridge for him to cobble together a nice enough bowl of pasta and maybe he wasn’t Gordon Ramsay, but showing effort worked well on Aaron. Most of the time.

He’s expecting Aaron home in about an hour, but when the phone rings Robert gets the clichéd panic that all his plans of a nice night in will all be for nothing. He imagines the various scenarios now – he’s got extra work to do, Chas has roped him into something, he’s out for drinks with Adam. But when he answers, it’s Victoria again, briefly apologetic, her voice warmer and maternal.

“Don’t tell me you’ve done something to upset him, Robert,” she says in that whiney nag of hers, something she’s clearly inherited from their mum.

“What d’you mean?” he says, wedging the phone between his ear and shoulder so he can wrangle with removing the veg from the bottom of the fridge.

“You – cooking a fancy meal! You’d only do that if you’ve stuffed up.”

“Oh thanks,” he says, turning his full attention to the phone call. “Some faith in me, you have.”

“I’m just saying, it’s not like you to start stressing over a _bain-marie_ for the fun of it. So, what have you done?”

He isn’t about to give Victoria the satisfaction of the whole story, he gives her the edited highlights – his involvement slimmed to a minimum so that, naturally, he comes out of events looking rosy. It is partly true that he’s organising a romantic night in to win back some brownie points, but also for softer, less selfish reasons. The new job’s taking off meaning he’s away more, on the road more regularly than he’d like and away from Aaron. They both enjoy a bit of distance now and again – after all they’re both stubborn hot heads and a clash is never too far away – but lately they’ve barely seen each other. The most contact they’ve had is Aaron’s cold feet brushing against him in the middle of the night or a coffee’d kiss in the morning that’s all too brief and can’t go where they want it to because Robert has to hit the road again. It makes him realise how lazy he used to be, how much he slacked off and how he was able to skip work to spend the whole day having sex – all without a single care. Now his work was actually being monitored and evaluated. Not to mention he needed the purpose work gave him so packing it in to spend a morning with a very naked Aaron draped across him just wasn’t an option anymore.

With their lack of time together in mind, Robert had taken Aaron out for the night – few drinks, food and then straight home to bed. And it had gone almost like that, just with less satisfying results than he’d hoped for. They’d gone to a bar – and that was the easy bit – feeling their bodies growing warm and sluggish with beer and Aaron’s eyes getting softer and flirtier and their knees tapping under the table as if in a secret code. Maybe if they’d just sacked off the meal and run straight home then the rest of the night would have been more successful – but Robert pushed on, ignoring the swell in his jeans and the raw urge to just take Aaron somewhere private and unwrap this foreplay they’d been layering. Instead they headed for dinner, some gastropub which he’d heard was decent from a guy from work but felt too stuffy and pretentious. It made his skin itch; it felt like the old him. He felt Aaron stiffen and pull his hands into insecure fists and his eyes stray awkwardly over the menu and its greedily priced fayre. And Robert drummed and gripped the table, slowly, inevitably falling back into old habits. His spine straightened and he felt like he used to – like Lawrence’s puppet, like Chrissie’s husband, like master and ruler and king. So when the food arrived and the edges of Aaron’s pizza were charred and the topping had withered, Robert found himself ignoring Aaron’s pleas that it was fine and summoned the waiter back over with a click of his fingers. He knew Aaron had shrunken, his eyes hard and jaw tight. He knew he’d failed already but he’d slipped and he couldn’t prevent it.

“Is there a problem?” the waiter asked with a clipped coolness to his voice. Robert hated his guts.

He found himself scoffing, arms folding across his chest. “Did you actually check the food before you brought it out? Because I’d be pretty ashamed of what you’ve just served up if I were you.” He could hear it in his own voice. The arrogant, the pompous, punchable derision. He tried clawing out the pit, glanced shakily at Aaron – who by this point looked as if he was ready to escape the table, his whole body pointed away. “I mean, just look at his – my boyfriend’s – pizza. It’s been cremated. It’s inedible.” He swallowed on the word boyfriend and he knew his using it was futile, he’d fucked up and no amount of acknowledgement, no public declaration of their relationship was going to save him.

Aaron picked up a slice and began chewing, ever defiant. The waiter looked down at Aaron and opened his mouth and hands to offer to take it away and replace it. But Aaron looked up. “It’s fine, mate,” he said and carried on eating, head down as if Robert wasn’t even with him.

And besides scowling, closed, tight jaws and monosyllabic and necessary responses – they barely interacted the rest of the night. Aaron paid half the bill – perhaps the biggest insult of all – and they shared a silent cab ride home. The last part – the part Robert had been fantasising about throughout the planning stages of the date – the going to bed part, ended with Robert staring up at the ceiling of their bedroom and telling Aaron he was sorry.

“Fine,” Aaron had said. “Go to sleep, then.” His breathing was softer and he didn’t jerk away from Robert putting his hand on his waist, so the night had ended better than some of their other nights at least. He’d take a ragged silver lining if that’s all he had.

Of course Victoria gets the edited version, the version where the waiter is a jerk and ruins their night and Aaron is a bit too sensitive to Robert’s reaction to bad service. He knows Vic sees through it but he can’t help himself. He spends enough of his life being public enemy number one, someone needs to paint him in a better light and that someone is usually him.

“Well in that case,” she says. “You’re going to need to put a bit more effort in than some pasta.”

“It’s too late now. I asked for your help and you laughed in my face.”

“Don’t turn this around on me,” she says and he can almost hear her using his full name back at him like he’s about to be sent to his room for bad behaviour. “So he’s going to come home and you’re just going to plonk some spaghetti down in front of him, are you?”

“It’s tagliatelle.”

“How romantic.”

“This is you helping, is it?”

“Sorry!” she says sounding fluttery and shrill which he finds a strange comfort. “Just had to pinch myself that you, my brother, are trying to do something selfless…for a _boyfriend_.”

“I’m hanging up-“

“-No, wait!” she says. “Have you sorted out the rest?”

“What do you mean ‘the rest’?”

“The wining and dining.”

“Have you met Aaron?” His fingertips touch his forehead and the brief romantic history of his sister and his boyfriend comes flooding back and he wishes he hadn’t asked.

“Just because he’s this tough, gruff bloke doesn’t mean he doesn’t like all that stuff.”

“Oh, so you buy Adam flowers and run him a bath, do you?” Robert says, eyes flicking between the clock and the ingredients he’s started to assemble.

“There’s no need to be sarcastic.”  

She’s right, in the way that he always expects her to be. Aaron’s romantic under all that grit and bravado – thoughtful, tender, craving affection. He might claim to hate attention and fuss, but when it’s just the two of them? Robert remembers once kissing the curving nape of his neck and squeezing along his shoulder-blades, massaging his skin with circular thumb movements. He remembers Aaron recoiling a little – being weird about it – and then, when he let himself, he relaxed, closed his eyes and let Robert continue until that time where the massaging stopped and the kissing continued again.

He knows Aaron. He knows his likes, his secrets, his habits, his pet hates, his kinks, his opinions. And if he doesn’t, he’s learning – second guessing. And eight times out of ten, he gets it right.

*

He’s set a table. There are candles, the lights – except the one he needs to see to finish cooking – are out, and there are cans of beer on the table in case Aaron takes one look at the candles and bolts. He’s put on a shirt. Not a relic from his days at Home Farm, not one that makes him feel like he’s moving backwards. It’s one Aaron bought him, one that he knows looks good (because Aaron’s given him _the look_ on multiple occasions). He’s rolled it up to the elbows and he feels his cheeks are pink-warm from the stress of putting together this meal and he almost drops a tray of oven-heated bread when the door crashes shut.

“Only me,” Aaron calls and Robert quickly ditches the baking try and oven gloves because he feels like some ridiculous domestic housewife. “Robert?” Aaron calls again.

“Kitchen,” Robert calls back and grabs a can from the table and opens it up. Spray splutters over his shirt and the foam spits over his hands and onto the floor.

“You cooking in the dark, or something?”

Robert hears the keys flung down, his coat shrugged off, the boots plodded off with two thuds and then he appears in the doorway, leaning on one of his arms and his tired face changing into a quirked smile of curiosity.

“Should I be worried?” he asks.

“What about?” Robert says, wiping his lager wet hands on the apron and handing Aaron the can.

“You’re wearing a pinny.” He takes a large gulp, finishing it with a half-sighed smile. “And you’ve got a beer waiting.” It takes Aaron a few more seconds to turn his head and see the table, the candles, the effort. “And…”

Robert’s head drops, overwhelmed by a sudden flash of insecurity. “It’s the least I owe you.”

“Candles? Where’d you find them?” He’s sure, even in the dimness he can see Aaron blush. His tone might be lightly teasing but his face, his affection, betrays him.

“Cupboard under the stairs.”

“And you’ve made us something good for tea?” His voice is soft and low and honeyed and Robert can feel him creeping closer, putting his beer down and sliding into his personal space.

Robert slides his hands around Aaron’s middle, burying his hands through the thick wad of black hoodie that separates flesh and flesh. “I’m trying to make up for the other night,” he says. “For being a complete jerk.”

“Yeah, you were,” Aaron says, running his thumbs down the strip of buttons down the centre of Robert’s chest.

“Am I forgiven?” Robert says and flicks his gaze to the romantic setting laid out for them.

“I suppose,” he says after a quick succession of blinks, smirking. He pushes his mouth up against Robert’s and pulls at the curve of his smile with his lips.

“Let me grab a shower.”

Robert nods, slipping reluctantly from him. “Be quick about it.”

*

Aaron wipes sauce from his mouth with the back of his hand and begins swirling another load of tagliatelle with his fork. He swallows a bit and points at the bowl before asking: “What do you call this then?”

Robert shrugs as if it was no effort at all. “Tagliatelle Puttanesca. It was meant to be spaghetti but I upgraded.”

“I’m honoured,” Aaron says, shaking his head to disguise the ridiculous grin on his face.

“It means tart’s spaghetti.”

Aaron seems to deliberate this with a nod and his head tilted to the side. “Figures.”

Robert concedes that one and his lips stick to his teeth when he smiles.

“So is this Vic’s handiwork or did you do it by yourself?”

“All me,” Robert says, sliding a piece of bread around the remains of sauce in the bowl. “With a little help from Delia.”

“I’m impressed.”

“As much as it pains you to admit.”

“No. If I gave you a compliment every time you wanted one there’d be no end to your ego.”

Robert reached forward and emptied the last of his beer can and stood, shaking it at Aaron. “You want another?”

Aaron blows out his cheeks, patting down his stomach, his body dragged into the back of the seat. “Nah, you’re alright.”

Robert fidgets around in the kitchen for a while, clinking around in the fridge for another beer and sticking his finger in the top of a hastily made trifle to see if its cold enough. If his memory serves him right it’s Aaron’s second favourite dessert. He couldn’t remember his favourite. It needs another ten minutes at least, so Robert swerves back to the table, pausing slightly to appreciate the way the amber candle glow softens Aaron’s features. Robert feels his heart dip in his chest and then pound louder than before.

Aaron unfolds his arms from the table, the knit of his sweater stretching cosily across his chest when he moves. He gives Robert that appreciative once-over _look_ again. His leg his angled out of the table, knee jangling.

“So...pudding. Will it keep?”

“Why?” Robert asks.

His eyes are alive, brilliant, glittering black. “I reckon we’ve got some more making up to do, don’t you?” He eases up from the table and Robert can’t look away from his persuasive smile as he edges nearer and nearer.


	5. Home

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Explicit chapter. Miscommunication and insecurities build and Aaron is left privately wondering how happy Robert is with him. Robert rebuilds and renegotiates his life, planning for the future with no idea of Aaron's fears. Final chapter in series.

 

Bad luck comes in threes. Things break in threes. The oven's gone, the heating too and now he's waiting for the third. He worries - privately, intensely, that the third thing to break will be them. It's not that things haven't been good - things have been so good, even accounting for their sharper, more volatile moments - it's that he worries they can't stay this way forever. He can't voice his fears to anyone because they'll look at him in that knowing way, like they were watching the slow stroke of a clock in anticipation of it all imploding. It’s not even Chas and Paddy – who he expects it from, who seem to tolerate Robert for an easy life and tolerate is the closest thing to acceptance that they can manage – it’s people like Andy whose scepticism over Robert is fiercer than most. Even if it’s deserved. And Aaron's not the sort to admit defeat when they're all waiting for it, expecting it, and when the path to be together has been so destructive. So he’s bitten his tongue and let it build up into brittle layers ready for snapping.

Aaron knows the biggest test has been for Robert - the exposure, the scrutiny. Crushed pride. Aaron knows for all his claims, Robert still struggles. And why wouldn't he? Robert lost everything and had to change his entire world to make this relationship work. Who wouldn't find that hard? Especially a man like Robert who gripped onto status and his sense of self like a man battling not to be thrown overboard. There are plenty of moments where Aaron allows himself to forget – he can sink into happiness like it’s a new life gifted to him, far removed from the congestion of grief he’s suffered to get there. Then there are other days, building now into a frequent pattern, where he sits and looks at Robert and wonders if he’s asking himself the question – is he worth it? Was Aaron worth giving up everything, losing everything?

Aaron can’t answer that question for him, only make conclusions of his own. He doesn’t feel worth it sometimes, not when he lets himself think too hard about Robert’s own happiness. His values and needs haven’t really changed since he lived at Home Farm, only now the things he strived for, the things he wanted are distant memories. The only thing he has now is Aaron.

He’s tried pushing these thoughts down, to the back of his head, but their cruelty is persistent. They weed up through his thoughts and pierce his skin like all his unwanted thoughts from the past have done. They affect his mood and it becomes a vicious cycle. He’s gets moody and angry thinking that Robert will leave him and that only causes tension between them when Aaron won’t talk. And all Aaron can think about is that he’s fulfilling his own nightmares and doesn’t know how to stop. It’s a slow motion crash and he’s behind the wheel.

Robert too doesn’t offer reasons for his own darker moods, only apologies that come too late when the rot and the doubts have already set into Aaron’s head. There are always moments of bliss – hours, days, even weeks - when Aaron can’t remember happier days. He feels free. But he knows days will follow where they should talk, where they need to get over themselves and allow the deep-and-meaningfuls, but they won’t and the regrets and worries will rise to the surface, discolouring those good days and making him feel like he’s kidding himself.

*

With the heating busted, Aaron almost expects it to be the last straw. This’ll be the issue, he thinks, this will be his deciding factor. Robert already makes his feelings clear about the cottage – the damp, the cramped, confined rooms, the low doorways he bashes the crown of his head on. Aaron could brush off his grumbles at first, roll his eyes, call him pathetic. But as things started breaking and Robert’s moods soured, Aaron could feel resentment steaming off him. The shine of their early, make shift days of living together of freedom, fun and fucking were fading. They faced realities now of work and bills and each other's flaws. Being in the cottage was a step down. Being with Aaron was a step down. Aaron began to absorb the resentment – after all if it weren’t for him, Robert would still be amongst luxury. Robert might be happier.

He manages to beg the loan of an electric radiator from Edna and he escapes quickly before she can give him another lecture on living in sin or committing adultery (whichever she has decided is his worst offence). It’ll spike their electric bill up to figures he doesn’t even want to imagine with the radiator plugged in, so he tries to heat up the lounge for an hour before Robert gets in from work.

He’s handsome in a soft way when he’s tired from a drive. Flat hair and the knot of his tie sad and drooping. The skin around his eyes is puffy and grey. He’s the polar opposite of the man who leaves in the morning – proud and driven and commanding. Aaron will get up earlier than he needs to just to experience that side of Robert in bed. Even if it’s six am. He can sleep when he’s dead.

“What’s all this?” Robert says, through a laugh, once he’s in through the door, laptop case down and sees Aaron sat on the sofa, gloves and hat on. Robert soon feels the chill and he winds his shoulders, reaching forward and giving the bobble on Aaron’s hat a tweak.

“Heating’s bust,” Aaron says, pulling the hat down over his ears. He averts his eyes from seeing Robert’s immediate reaction and places his tea down, bracing to stand. “You want a brew?”

“You’re joking?!”

Aaron gestures to his winter clothing. “What d’you think?” He heads to the kitchen, already aware that he’s being cold with Robert without meaning to. It’s a reflex. Hurt them before they hurt you. It’s meant to feel less painful that way.

“And the water?” Robert calls out. “I can’t even have a shower?”

“No. Boiler’s knackered. The repair bloke on the phone says he’s all booked up until Thursday.” Aaron leans against the counter in the kitchen, looking at their broken oven and watching as cold water drips from the sink tap tauntingly. The kettle wheezes and he almost expects the lights to flicker above him, adding to the list of things he can’t fix.

“I don’t believe this,” he says, ranting and raving next door. Aaron sees him dragging his hands through his hair and pulling at his tie. If only he had the status he used to, he’d be calling someone, making demands, opening his wallet and handing over wads of money that he wouldn’t even blink at. “That and the fucking oven! This place is a money pit. Cursed!”

Maybe it’s us, Aaron thinks. Maybe it’s me. Maybe I’m the curse and you’d be better off without me. How long until you realise?

*

It’s amazing what a hot shower can do after a long day at work and muscles that stiffen and clench after hours stuck in the car. Robert takes the stairs at Diane’s two at a time and runs a hand-towel over his damp hair. As grateful as he is for the central heating at the pub and the warm smell of Diane’s cooking in the kitchen, he can’t help but think of Aaron at home with blue fingertips and shivering on the sofa. He hates how many hours work steals from their time together.

Diane’s in the kitchen, washing the utensils she’s used to make a late supper. They have a brief catch up, with Robert filling her in on all their latest household breakdowns.

“I’d have dinner at the pub with him, but things are a bit tight at the minute. I’m trying to put money aside for somewhere better.”

“I bet that’s a struggle for you to get your head around – no endless streams of cash anymore!” Diane says, not unkindly.

“It’s not ideal, but I've been in worse situations.” Robert says, with a shrug. “We get by. Work’s looking up. House is falling apart, mind…”

“And the two of you?”

Robert pauses, hands on hips. “And this isn’t going straight back to Chas?”

“Just taking an interest in my family,” she says, raising her palms.

It’s only then when Robert realises he’s standing right next to the framed photo on Aaron on the cabinet. A grinning, gelled, tearaway teenager. Robert wonders if he really was as carefree as he looks in that photo, or if his unhappiness was better hidden back then. He fights the urge to smile, to run his fingers over the glass.

“I know it’s not been easy…” he says, planting his hands deep into his pockets. A faint smile lights up the corners of his mouth. “But things are good. I’m happy. He’s happy. Yeah, things are really good.”

“You better keep it that way,” Diane says, almost threatening him with the cutlery she brandishes in her right hand. “Oh this is silly!” she says, pausing with her hand on the oven door. “Give Aaron a ring and tell him to get over here. I’ve got plenty of food to go around.”

“Seriously?” he says, even though he’s already slipped his jacket on.

“Seriously. And while you call, I’ll just get you some blankets. They’re sheepskin ones – work wonders. There was a week when your dad and I had no heating, right in the middle of November. Oh – it was bitter! They made all the difference.” He can still hear her as he takes his phone out and she climbs the stairs. “And failing that, there’s always body heat!”

Robert grimaces in good humour, not wishing to imagine Diane and Jack getting friendly under the blankets.

“Alright?” Aaron says when he answers Robert’s call.

“Yeah, listen, Diane’s offered us some food. Something decent and hot for a change,” he says. “So get round here and out of that freezing little hovel.”

“Hovel?” he says in a jerked reaction.

“Yeah, come on. Be nice to get out of that damp kitchen and have something that isn’t microwaved.” Robert takes a quick glance around the doorway to check there’s no one lurking and he coats voice with seduction. “And I’ve just had an idea how we can keep warm later…”

“No,” Aaron says, not matching the warmth of Robert’s suggestion. “It’s alright. You stay and keep warm. I’m fine in the _hovel_.”

“What? Are you sure?”

“Yeah. I’m not bothered about it, but you obviously are. So you stay.”

Robert frowns, confused by Aaron’s reluctance to come over. He wonders whether Aaron’s had a barny with Chas and doesn’t want to bump into her – he wouldn’t blame him. “Alright. I’ll see you later then,” he says, feeling flattened and his hopes of getting cosy together dashed.

*

Just as he gets in from another long day, Robert’s phone beeps with an email. He’s finally starting to feel like one of the team now – in-jokes, invitations to nights out, snide comments about other colleagues. He has a quick glance over the email and grins to himself. It’s the head of department – Celia – a brittle woman with a short fuse and a dirty laugh. He pissed her off in the first week so he’s really had to prove himself, but he’s somehow managed to crawl his way to gain her respect. It’s surprised him how satisfying genuine respect and hard graft actually is.

_To: r . sugden [@] petersonindustries.com_

_From: c . graves [@] petersonindustries.com_

_Subject: RE: RE: RE: RE: Dinner Party_

_Rumour has it on the 5 th floor that your OH is a bit of a looker – make sure you bring him along on the 17th. No excuses. I want to see the idiot mad enough to cohabit with you. _

_You’ve still not RSVP’d…I’m not expecting a mountain of presents, but I am only 5-0 once._

_C_

Aaron catches him grinning and leans up against the doorway of the living room. “Anyone important?” he asks, nodding at the phone.

Robert shakes his head. “Just a work thing,” he says and pockets the phone. He’ll tell Aaron later about the birthday dinner party for Celia – it’ll be something Aaron would hate every second of, but maybe after a few drinks he could be persuaded. He steps over to Aaron and kisses him hard and long on the mouth, making an _mmm_ sound hum straight through them. He draws circles with his thumbs on Aaron’s cheeks and the tips of their noses touch when they part. “I love you,” he says, for no other reason than he means it, he feels it deep in his chest.

Aaron looks down, but Robert stays holding him just a moment longer.

“Get your coat, we’re going out for the night,” he says to Aaron, wrapping his hands around his middle. “I can’t stand another night here shivering.”

Aaron doesn’t seem as thrilled at the prospect of going out as Robert thought he would, perhaps he’s thinking of the cash flow situation too, but they end up at a country pub the other side of Hotten. It’s where he took a client for a business lunch a month ago, a lunch he grit his teeth through owing to the fact the client’s small talk came armed with jokes rooted in 1950s bigotry.

As they enter the warm, reddened glow of the pub, Robert gives Aaron’s waist a brief squeeze and leans in. “Grab a table and I’ll get the drinks in. Pint?”

“Yeah, pint would be good.”

He waits at the bar, intermittently glancing over at Aaron, who – in his usual way – leans on his hand and slumps disinterestedly through the menu. Maybe that’s why Aaron appeals so much to him – the effort it takes to please him and the reward of his smile. Being the one to cause it. It’s a challenge, their whole set up has been one hurdle after another, but he’s never been one for the easy option. Aaron’s difficult and stubborn and moody – and yet he wouldn’t be without any of those things, not for a minute.

His eyes flick up over the specials board once he’s ordered but before he knows it, he feels a man tap him on the shoulder. When he turns he finds himself staring straight at the client he brought there for lunch – Greg Lawson.

“Robert,” he says, clapping him on the back. “Can’t keep away, eh?” He has an eardrum shattering laugh.

“Greg! What are the chances?”

“Thought I’d bring the good lady wife out. She can’t cook for shit! Not really sure why I married her, to be honest with you!” Greg laughs again and Robert is forced to match it out of politeness as Greg continues. “After you brought me here for the Peterson thing, I thought I’d make coming here a regular thing. Grub’s good. None of that poofy bollocks.”

Robert nods along and pays the bartender, suddenly and acutely aware he has two pints and a boyfriend waiting. He can feel his throat dry up in Greg’s presence.

“Your missus not with you?” Greg says indicating to the beer. “Don’t tell me she’s the type of bird who likes beer?”

“No,” Robert says and then shrivelling inside when he speaks again. “Just here with a mate.” He hates himself, feels like he’s betrayed Aaron and shrunken into some pathetic version of himself.

*

On Thursday evening Robert comes home to a heated, empty house. There’s a note from the boiler engineer to say it’s all fixed and the invoice will be in the post. But there’s no sign of Aaron. Robert calls out and checks his mobile for messages but finds none. There’s another email from Celia which he reads with a wry smile. He’d sent her a photo. Just a stupid selfie of the two of them behind the wheel of Robert’s company car once he’d picked it up all those months ago.

_So the rumours are true. Damn. What does he see in you?! You got luck Sugs_

He still hadn’t broached the dinner party with Aaron. He’d planned to the night before at the pub. They’d had a nice meal although Robert spent most of it on edge, painfully aware of Greg in the distance and unable to relax and flirt with Aaron the way he’d wanted to. Then just before they left, Robert popped to the gents and when he came back, Aaron’s mood had altered and he didn’t want to talk, didn’t smile. He’d felt a gulf between them in bed that night and he didn’t wake before Robert left that morning.

Robert heads upstairs wondering if Aaron is taking advantage of there being hot running water and bites down on the smirk that appears when he thinks of Aaron wrapped in a towel, his hair dark and curly and body smooth and wet. But once up there, he hears no running water and the bedroom is empty.

Something stops him in his tracks. One wardrobe door is open and it looks wrong, looks out of place. He heads over to it and opens the second half, breath stuttering in his throat. Aaron’s clothes are gone. Then he notices more absences from the room and the worst thing of all, a piece of paper on the bed.

_I’m doing it so you don’t have to. We’re done. You don’t have to pretend anymore._

Robert’s throat spasms and nausea punches its way out of his gut. The paper creases in his hand and shakes until it doesn’t feel real anymore. The place still smells of him, he can sense him moving from room to room, he can hear him pottering around in the kitchen, grumbling and sighing. How can he be gone? It doesn’t make any sense. Things were good, really good. Weren’t they happy? 

He goes straight to the pub, blindly, knowing there’s nowhere else Aaron would go and feeling even worse because this will be exactly what Chas wants – what she expected all along, what they all did. He tears out of the cottage so unthinkingly that he leaves his keys inside and is only at the threshold of The Woolpack before he realises.

He knows by the look on Diane’s face that he’s wild looking, he can feel his eyes straining. “Where is he?”

She flicks her eyes from side to side, deliberating where she stands on the divide. “Out the back,” she says and then with a weary sigh. “What have you done now, Robert?”

He doesn’t wait around to give her an answer, but just pushes straight behind the bar. Aaron’s spread out on the sofa, eating cereal and watching TV.

“What the hell’s going on?” Robert says, standing right in front of him. He can feel Chas clucking in his peripheral vision and he snaps at her. “Will you just give us a minute, Chas?”

“You’re wasting your breath. He’s made up his mind.”

Aaron starts to stand, taking his bowl with him.

“I’m not about to leave until he gives me an answer, alright?” Robert stands in his path and takes a hold of his shoulder. “Aaron. Aaron? Please. Just talk to me, tell me what I’ve done and we can sort it.”

Chas scoffs. “He’s heard enough lies from you, don’t you think?”

Robert watches Aaron swallow and root his feet to the floor, resolute. “Mum give us a minute.”

Once she’s gone, Robert presses his hands over his eyes and inhales deeply. A thousand words stream in front of his eyes and he finds himself trying to swim through them, trying to find ways to reason with Aaron, plead with him.

“Please,” he says again, because he’s done with the empty promises and the bullshit lies. He can’t manipulate his way out and he doesn’t want to.

“You know,” - Aaron begins, his face a knotted ball of anger – “I thought we could manage. No, I thought we could be good together. I was stupid. Stupid to think I’d ever be enough for you. After her, after everything you had up there. The cars, the stuff, the money.”

“What?! What’s that got to do with _us_ , with anything?!” Robert almost laughs, almost splutters it out because he can’t believe he’s hearing it.

Aaron’s tears roll faster down his cheeks and he wipes them away before they have a chance to be absorbed. “You can’t live with me, with a man. And not in some rundown cottage. You hate it. It’s not what you want.”

“No,” Robert says, shaking his head furiously. “No!”

“You’re kidding yourself,” Aaron says. “You couldn’t even tell that guy from the pub yesterday that we’re together.”

Robert’s forehead falls, crumpled in his confusion.

“Greg? He came up and introduced himself when you went to the loo. Apparently I’m your _mate_ now?”

“Oh god. Look I can explain-”

“That just about made my mind up for me. Because you’ve made it clear how much you hate living in the cottage. Our house. And I’m not gonna let you make a mug of me.”

Robert slumps down into the nearest chair parked behind him, running a fumbled hand across his face and through his hair. Aaron’s accusations have come from the leftfield and as he tries to make sense of them one by one, he sits in silence.

“Greg’s an arsehole,” he says, the weakest excuse he’s got. “He’s sexist, racist, homophobic. The lot. He’s a client I had to schmooze the other week, alright? He’s a dickhead. I didn’t tell him the truth because it caught me off guard. I was stupid, okay? Pathetic. Cowardly.”

“You’re ashamed.”

“I’m not.”

“You’re embarrassed.”

“No. Not of you.”

“I’m not your trophy wife so you’d rather pretend I’m no one.”

“No! I don’t want a trophy wife. I want you.”

“You’ve got nothing because of me.”

Robert shakes his head, the gasp that comes out of him is sharp, huffed through his teeth. He’s bent over, his whole back hunched and hands clasped together in front of his knees. “You really think that?”

Aaron shrugs, his sadness forming a thick grimace on his mouth.

“I don’t want anything else. I _love_ you.”

“You hate living there.”

“I don’t,” Robert says and then opens up his hands, trying to explain himself. “Alright, so I hate that everything breaks and I hate that we pay a fortune to live in somewhere that’s falling apart. But until we can afford somewhere better…it’s home. It’s our home. You and me. Not just me on my own, Aaron.” He braves edging closer and sits beside Aaron on the sofa, now that he has relented to sit back down himself. “I’ll put up with the boiler and the oven and everything else that breaks…because you’re there.”

He’s eased up a little, Robert can tell. His jaw’s a little looser, the tears have slowed so they’re just damp ringlets around the rims of his eyes.

“And you’ll hate this, but I’ll show you anyway.” Robert lifts his phone out of his pocket and taps until he finds the email thread with Celia. “You think I’m ashamed of you. And yeah I’ve given you reason to think that. I don’t exactly have a great track record when it comes to things being out in the open. But I’ve not lied to anyone at work. They know about us, they know you’re my boyfriend, that we live together.” He hands the phone to Aaron.

“What?”

“Just read it.”

Robert listens to the chatter of the pub next door as Aaron scrolls and reads, scrolls and reads. He reaches the top of the email thread and then places the phone on the table in front of them.

“Why won’t you talk to me? All you had to do was just tell me what was going on. You know I’m here, that I’ll listen,” Robert says. Dark moments from the past flash through his head and he thinks about the lengths of misery he’s driven Aaron to in the past. He squeezes his eyes closed to erase those thoughts.

Aaron rocks slightly forward, pressing his hands together, gritting through the answers he doesn’t want to give. “I didn’t want to be right. I didn’t want to give you the option of leaving me.”

“Well you’re wrong, okay? You’re wrong. Maybe there are days where it would be easier to just go back to how things were, but I don’t want that. And you don’t want that either.”

Aaron shakes his head tearfully. He makes eye contact with Robert for the first time in what feels like hours. Robert reaches forward and lays his hand against Aaron’s cheek, pulling them closer, pulling Aaron’s focus on him.

“It’s worth it. Starting again – long hours, falling down house. It’s worth it for you.” Robert sees Aaron grip his eyes shut and release a breath that sounds as if it’s been caged for weeks. “You’ve got to believe me,” he says. “Because I’m not going to lose you, not now, not over this.”

Robert doesn’t urge him to open his eyes, he lets him do it in his own time. He loosens his grip and the backs of his fingers fall in slow, curled strokes against his jaw and then his neck. Aaron’s throat tightens as he swallows and his mouth forms a dark o-shape as he steadies his breath, calming himself down. Robert knows he doesn’t deserve to be believed, doesn’t deserve the patience or the trust or the loyalty. He doesn’t deserve the love of a man so terrified of being unworthy of someone like him. And it’s something they’ll both have to be fight against – insecurities, doubts, fears.

“Are you coming home?”

*

The light from the moon projects a crystalized pattern onto the carpet of their bedroom – they still have the net curtains up, left over from a bygone era. Aaron’s vision crosses fuzzily as he follows the path of Robert’s thumb, until it lands on the centre of his lips and drags down, down to the centre of his chest. Then it’s his mouth, kissing his lips, swearing with softness that this is forever. Aaron holds his breath – he doesn’t like to think of the future – and lets Robert’s hands seek out his hip bones. The backs of his thighs are warm and damp and Robert’s fingers swirl across them, touch after touch after tease, and then Aaron’s snaking out from beside him and nudging him onto his stomach.

“That’s how it is tonight, is it?” Robert says, a pillowy growl caught up in there somewhere. It’s late and the emotional strain of the night has exacerbated his sluggishness, his mouthy habits. He’s unusually quiet, compliant. Even when they came back from the pub - came back home, back to bed – he was bare of the familiar swagger.

“Just shut up,” Aaron says, knowing he will tonight. He leans over Robert’s giant spread of body and kisses him, peppers him, from elbow to shoulder blade. His fingers rake over the rattled speckle of freckles and marks and he allows himself the pleasure of ownership for once, to enjoy the body offered up for him and him alone.

He kisses the last dip of skin, the last inch of Robert’s spine and feels a shivered squirm underneath – the man who likes people to think he’s unbreakable – as the edge of his tongue dips between his cheeks. That brief flutter of smugness Aaron feels arrives with a ticklish puff of air against Robert’s flesh but it’s quickly forgotten when Aaron draws in close and drags the wet flat of his tongue across his opening. Aaron raises his head enough to see Robert’s jaw flex into a jagged angle and his teeth pull at the pillowcase, mangling the pleas he makes. With his cock swelling and body tensing, Aaron licks at him again, responding hungrily for the way Robert digs his knuckles into the mattress.

Patience is never Robert’s strong point and his vocalised moans and grunts don’t stay passive for long. He pulls himself onto his knees and spreads his legs, tossing Aaron the packet of condoms that have somehow ended up in the middle of the tangled bed.

“I do love you too,” Aaron says, only just loud enough. He knows he should say it another time, away from the hazy, end of the world euphoria he feels, when his lips and stubble aren’t pressed against Robert’s inner thigh. But it feels good to say it now, to know only he can make Robert feel like this. Wanted. And loved. Both at once.

When he fucks him, finally, it’s hot and slick and suffocating. His breath is taken from him. He feels more alive than he should, after the months of dread and fear and doubt. He feels more alive than is possible. He lets himself moan long and loud into the room in the ultimate release. He imagines standing on the Dales and screaming at the top of his lungs. Robert arches beautifully underneath him, his face morphed by twisted, crying pleasure. He’s not sure if they’re both laughing now, or crying. Or both. His skin singes and prickles, a thudding bliss maps the whole length of him, starting at his groin and burning the whole way through. He’s owed this – for everything, for all the grief and pain – he deserves this.

He deserves the way, after, his body slumps and pulses with heat and the way he’s wrapped up in Robert’s arms, with Robert’s mouth and Robert’s body and Robert’s words pressing life and love back into him. He deserves the feeling, after all this time, the feeling of being home.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for all your wonderful comments and support for this fic. Apologies for the time it has taken for me to finish writing it but I hope you've enjoyed!


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